


Between Me and You

by selenakent



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, but she's actually a princess, royal au, this purely to satisfy my 'peggy is a queen both literally and figuratively' craving
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-14 13:20:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19274155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selenakent/pseuds/selenakent
Summary: "I've washed plenty of windows in my life, I'm quite good at it.""Don't you, y'know, have people to do that for you? 'The perks of being royalty' and all that?""Well, yes, but I was a very naughty child."---or a royal AU where Princess Margaret must find a husband but doesn't actually need one, and Steve is precious.





	1. Lunch & Portraits

It was a sunny, warm spring morning in Bletchley. There was a light, comfortable breeze in the air that gently ruffled flowers and ship sails alike. The water in the harbor glistened and shined in the sunlight and the white mountain peaks in the distance sparkled. Shoppers bustled about the market place and shop owners hovered about their shops. It was quite a lovely day, yet Princess Margaret was having anything but. 

“Mother, please. I just don’t understand why you have to meddle in—“

“My dear, I am not meddling. I am simply taking care of a few issues that you and that stubbornness of yours refuse to acknowledge.” Peggy adjusted her bodice as she frowned at her mother through the mirror, who was seated on the couch in the middle of the room, legs crossed at the ankles—proper as always, even in the presence of just her daughter.

“I just do not see the point of inviting every nobleman in the kingdom to a lunch that I did not approve of nor want to attend just so you can someday throw a wedding.“

“I am not trying to throw a wedding, I am trying to find you a husband,” the queen said in that stern tone that used to have Peggy washing windows for a week whenever she did something reckless as a child. 

“Fundamentally they are the same thing, really,” Peggy huffed, desperate to hold on to the last word on the matter. Besides, Peggy knew enough about weddings and marriages to be confident in her dismissal—she’s almost had both and would have preferred to live without either. 

Her mother sighed, peering up at Peggy. Her daughter was lovely, with swelling curves and beautiful lips, courtesy of her mother, of course. She had the strong jaw and nose of her father, his dark eyes and temperament, as well. Her daughter was beautiful, as any princess should be. But she was also strong and stubborn and she needed to learn to listen to her mother, just as any daughter should. 

“Margaret darling, please,” the queen said as she rose and walked over to her daughter, reaching up to smooth down a strand of loose dark hair. “You know I don’t want to force anything on you, but you need to understand that this isn’t something you can ignore for much longer. You’re nearly twenty-three years of age, it is time for you to consider the possibility that a husband may be good for you. Nearly all of your cousins and friends are married already…but you are not.”

“I don’t need a husband, Mother. I’ve told you before—I am quite fine without one,” Peggy replied, turning towards her mother.

Her mother smiled at her, running her hands down the bodice of Peggy’s dress. “I know you are, dear. Just...think about it, please? I love you, I just want you to be happy.”

Peggy nodded gravely, giving her mother a small smile. 

“All right. But Mother—if I don’t find one this time, I do not want to throw another one of these get-togethers.”

“We’ll see,” said the queen as she smiled triumphantly and exited her daughter’s chambers. 

At the sound of the door snapping shut, Peggy turned back to her reflection. She looked every bit the princess—beautiful dress and neatly plaited hair, long-lived jewelry adorning her skin. But Peggy knew that there were also callouses on her hands, scars on her shoulder blade and knees, and a blazing desire to do something that mattered. She had never been a proper heir and now she was expected to marry whatever man was presented to her and wait patiently at home for her lord husband to return to her every night. She thought she could do it once, had even wanted it, but that was when she had had a say in what to do with her life.

Now Peggy had been thrust into a position she wasn’t supposed to fill and into a life she had never wanted—a life that should have been someone else’s. 

Besides, Peggy didn’t need a husband; if she had to rule, she’d do so on her own. 

Just then came a knock at the door and Peggy ran her hands down the front of her dress, willing her thoughts away. 

“Come in.”

Angie walked in sporting a bright smile that was so infectious that Peggy couldn’t help but return a small one of her own. Angie was Peggy’s cousin and best friend: they had grown up together and Angie could read Peggy better than anyone. Angie also dressed better than anyone else Peggy knew, always on top of the latest fashions and trends, unbothered by the crown’s continuous reminders that she was above such frivolities. Angie didn’t care. Her mother was a commoner so she had very little regard for the strictness of royal life and preferred to live her life exactly as she saw fit. Sometimes, Peggy envied her for it. 

“You ready yet?”

“Almost. I see you are, though.” Angie was wearing a light rose colored day gown, light enough for the midday sun, which complimented the mauve of Peggy’s own dress. Peggy wasn’t sure how she did it, but Angie always managed to coordinate their clothing.

Angie gave Peggy a once over and gently clucked her tongue. “Pegs, how many times do I have to tell you to let your hair flow. No more of this uptight, ‘I let my mother do my hair’ business.”

Peggy self-consciously reached up to gently caress her chignon, “I’ll have you know this is a very practical style and I quite like it.”

“Well I quite don’t,” replied Angie with an eye roll. “You’ll embarrass the both of us and if you’re not looking for a man, I certainly am. Now come on, sit.” Peggy did as she was told, stepping over to the chair Angie had pulled out and gingerly sitting down. Someone would one day be able to say no to her cousin, but Peggy was not that someone. 

Angie decided on a half braided up-do to help Peggy at least a little bit with the heat and to show off Peggy’s face—"it’s really unfair how sharp your cheekbones are, give the rest of us a chance”—and the rest of her hair fell in soft waves down her back. 

“There,” Angie said with a satisfied smile, “lovely enough to snare any one of those men out there.” 

Peggy smirked up at her cousin, rising from the chair. “Snare? What a wonderful description of marriage.”

“Ugh, you know what I mean. Anyways, you have to humor your mother. Let’s go downstairs and smile and be polite. And I mean it Peggy, you have to smile, like this,” Angie explained as she demonstrated a small, enchanting smile that Peggy was sure would capture the attention of countless young men that day. “You can look pretty intimidating if you don’t smile. Besides, maybe you’ll even find a man that’ll change your mind about weddings, marriages, proposals—the whole thing.” Angie linked her arm with Peggy’s and all but pulled her cousin out and into the hallways, completely ignoring Peggy’s quiet huffs and slight resistance. 

“Doubtful.”

_______________

Steve exited the carriage and looked up at the palace, tugging reflexively on his lapels, trying to keep sharp. The palace was old and gorgeous sitting up high on its perch surveying its kingdom. The building shone gold, light rays bouncing off its exterior like Olympus come alive, and Steve had never felt more out of his depth. 

The royal family intimidated him. The palace intimidated him. Hell, even the perfectly manicured shrubbery intimidated him, and Steve felt that this made him a good citizen. The crown was an ideal to strive towards, and since he himself would never reach that standard, minding his place was his duty. 

He wasn’t supposed to be there; the royal family had sent him an invitation to the midday lunch but Steve was sure it had to have been a mistake and he had intended to sincerely apologize for his unavailability until Bucky had strolled up to him a week before the aforementioned lunch and asked to share a carriage up to the palace. 

“I don’t think I’m gonna go, Buck,” Steve had said, dunking his hands into the water basin near the back of the house to scrub off the dirt he had caked under his fingernails from tending the land.

“Why the hell not? It’s not every day we get to go up to that snooty place and get a free lunch.”

Bucky knew exactly why Steve had not wanted to go, and still Steve found himself trying to string together some sort of excuse that would save him from attending the event. 

“There’s just so much work I have to finish before month’s end and—“

“And one lunch is going to mess it all up?” Bucky had seemed genuinely upset, just as he always was whenever Steve tried to brush off anything good happening in his life. “Hop off it Steve, we’re going.”

And so the invitations were accepted and Steve was stuck at the palace for the better part of the day. Bucky, it seemed, was feeling much better about the arrangement. 

“I hear they’ve invited all the eligible bachelors today—I think they’re trying to find Margaret a husband. And there’s no reason why it can’t be me,” Bucky explained with a grin, running a hand through his hair in a way that he felt was completely irresistible. 

“I dunno, I hear she’s pretty tough. She might not even be here today and anyway, she’s out of your league.” Steve laughed as Bucky made a face at him. A small part of Steve believed this whole affair might somehow unfold Bletchley the way Bucky wanted it to—his best friend always had a way with women, and Steve had yet to see Buck fail to sweep one off her feet. 

“Princess or not, she’s still a dame, pal. And I know how to woo dames.”

Steve couldn’t argue with that, so instead clapped Bucky on the shoulder and began to walk up the millions of stairs that led to the main entrance of the palace. 

Once there, he and Bucky were treated to fine champagne and a long stroll through the endless foyer that housed portraits of the kings and queens of Bletchley. King Harrison’s portrait was near the end of the hall, large and imposing and finely done. Steve wandered close to the portrait to examine the fine brush strokes on the canvas. At his eye level were only two buttons on the king’s shirt, but even those buttons had been carefully done with lovely brushwork. Below the portrait of the king was a much smaller portrait of his heir, Princess Margaret. Steve had only seen the princess in low-quality prints that hung in store windows, but she was very young in the painting, no older than thirteen years old. She had unruly little curls and large brown eyes and a mischievous smile that didn’t match her father’s stern frown at all. 

“Stop looking at a portrait of her when the real thing is right out there,” called Bucky when he realized Steve was marveling at the artwork rather than following him out into the gardens. 

Steve took one last look at the little princess and followed his friend outside.

“So, do you think Margaret would like dinner by the water or by the shops?” 

“I think,” Steve said, making a face and feigning deep thought at Bucky’s question, “she’d like dinner far away from you.”

“Jerk.”


	2. Fruit for Peggy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Your name?”
> 
> “Steve,” he said simply. 
> 
> The whole altercation was more than a little awkward but Peggy was nothing if not a master at plowing through.

“...and, you know Marge, you should tell your daddy that cause I have a sort of sixth sense for these types of things and you’ll sure as hell thank me later when it turns out I’m right.”

Peggy cursed fate for the sixteenth time that day for forcing these dull men into her garden and her life. She hadn’t even gotten a chance to eat before she was pulled in one direction or another by various noblemen and their well-meaning mothers. The current man talking at her, Jack, had caught her right as she reached for the apple slices. He had slid his hands over her shoulders and steered her away from the food and towards a single chair in a secluded corner where he sat her down and began his as of yet uninterrupted speech about tariffs and imports.

To keep herself from throttling him, Peggy had been twisting and re-twisting a napkin in her lap, but had to give that up soon after when she realized it would be the perfect weapon to accomplish said deed with. Her mother would never forgive a dead lunch guest, no matter how irritating and condescending.

So Peggy bit her tongue, ground her teeth, and wished for a quick death. Mercifully though, as had been the case on so many other occasions, Natasha came to her rescue.

“Ma’am,” Natasha interrupted with a slight curtsy and without even a glance at Jack, “the queen would like a word.”

Peggy nearly jumped out of her chair at the chance to escape, but by sheer force of will and the habits cultivated endless lessons on etiquette, she simply nodded at Natasha and rose from the chair, turning to jack with a tight smile and tighter words. “Thank you, Jack. I’ll be sure to tell the king about your...premonitions.”

He opened his mouth as if to protest, but Peggy had already swept away from him, Natasha in tow. Jack was left confused and blessedly silent.

“Premonitions?” Asked Nat, smirking.

“More like the ramblings of a man who thinks he knows everything about everything,” replied Peggy before stopping a safe distance away from Jack and turning to her keeper. “What does Mother want now?”

“Nothing, but I want you to eat,” Natasha pulled out one of Peggy’s kerchiefs wrapped around some berries and grapes and the apple slices Peggy had wanted earlier.

Natasha was Peggy’s guardian, personally appointed by the king to keep his daughter safe. Outwardly, Nat was simply another one of Peggy’s companions, lovely and graceful and perfectly harmless. But Natasha was deadly and took her responsibilities seriously, seriously enough to ensure that Peggy was not only safe, but well fed. They were the nearly the same age and Peggy used to be irritated with the way Natasha would oftentimes treat her like a child, but Peggy had learned the hard way that Natasha didn’t love anyone as much as she loved Peggy and Peggy couldn’t begrudge her for caring for those she loved.

“You are an angel,” Peggy gushed as she took the proffered parcel, immediately sticking an apple slice into her mouth.

“I’ll cover you for a bit, go and eat and enjoy some silence.”

Peggy didn’t need to be told twice. She smiled gratefully at Natasha and took off on a brisk walk towards the rose bushes near the end of the path. She was sure no one would be there, it was too far away from the entrance for any wayward guests to wander to.

But as had been the case for much too long, logic and luck were not in the princess’s favor. She began to chew slower, her happiness evaporating with every bite as she walked deeper into the bushes and was met by a man’s silhouette sitting at one of the benches. Peggy hummed disappointedly as the person came into focus: large, blond, and so decidedly focused on his little pad that he didn’t notice Peggy’s approach. Peggy paused abruptly once she realized he hadn’t registered her yet, meaning to turn around and find a different place to rest when suddenly the man’s head shot up and his gaze turned towards her.

He rose clumsily, dropping his pad and pencil. Peggy cursed under her breath; she couldn’t run away from him now that he’d seen her, so she would just have to toughen up and repeat the listening and nodding act she’d been perfecting all day

“Hello,” she called, striding over to him as he crouched and muttered an apology for dropping his things. As she approached, Peggy noted the pink tips of his ears and the slight tremble of his hands.

The man straightened with his little pad and pencil gripped tightly in one hand and coughed slightly, clearly nervous.

“Ma’am,” he replied, lips resting in a tight line and making no move to bow his head or reach for her hand to kiss as was customary. Peggy would have been irritated by the disrespect if she hadn’t been so eager to get through the day with at least an ounce of her sanity left.

The man was tall and broad, with blue eyes and a sharp nose. He was well dressed, the fabric of his suit obviously of high quality though it was very worn—Peggy could see the collar of his jacket starting to fray. He was handsome, but Peggy had seen more than enough handsome men in her life; they were more often than not dull and envious.

The princess waited for the man to begin his speech or at least introduce himself, but when no introduction came, Peggy fought the urge to make a face and instead took a deep breath and spoke first.

“Your name?”

“Steve,” he said simply.

The whole altercation was more than a little awkward but Peggy was nothing if not a master at plowing through.

“Shouldn’t you be out there and enjoying the food and company?” Peggy asked, popping another apple slice into her mouth. Her mother would have a fit if she found out Peggy was snacking while entertaining a visitor, but then again, the queen would have a fit at almost everything Peggy did.

Steve blushed slightly, rubbing the back of his neck, still standing stiff as a board. “I, uh, slipped away to find someplace quiet,” he explained, gesturing around him. “Everyone was tripping over themselves trying to find Princess Margaret so I took my chance.”

That definitely caught Peggy’s attention. This man—Steve—had no idea who she was...no wonder he hadn’t followed proper etiquette or made any effort to begin a conversation.

“And you have no interest in her?” Peggy asked, walking closer to sit down on the bench he had previously occupied. When she scooted closer to one end of it, indicating to Steve she wasn’t going anywhere soon, he sat down as well.

“I don’t think she’d have any interest in me,” Steve replied good-naturedly and without an ounce of self-deprecation that Peggy almost wanted to correct him.

Peggy had never in her life enjoyed anonymity—everyone she had ever met had already known everything important about her and it had always left a bitter feeling in her chest. And here was this man who had no idea who she was. She resolved to enjoy the moment, however brief.

As if remembering he wasn’t alone, Steve turned to her, though he didn’t go quite as far as to actually look at her: his eyes would linger on the path by their feet before flickering quickly in her general direction.

“What about you?” he asked after a moment of quiet. “What are you doing here, Miss...?”

“Peggy,” she replied before offering him the fruit she had wrapped in the cloth, sighing inwardly as he took the last apple slice, leaving her to pick a grape from the pile before continuing. “Same as you, I suppose. I wanted to eat in peace.”

Steve, who had been chewing rather steadily, stilled and swallowed audibly. “Would you like to be alone?” he asked, already begging to gather the little pencil and pad from his lap into one of his large hands.

Peggy had been so desperate to be alone, yet she found this unassuming and awkward man oddly good company. She would hideout among the roses for as long as possible, and if Steve wanted to stay for the duration, she wasn’t going to object.

“It’s alright, you’re not that loud,” she said, smiling and reaching for another grape.

Steve didn’t say anything to that, just nodded once and turned his head forward to look at the white rose bushes before them.

“Are you a poet?” Peggy questioned after two more pieces of fruit, motioning towards the pad in his lap and offering him a blackberry lest he take the last of her grapes.

“No,” said Steve, taking the berry. “I draw, kind of. Sometimes.”

Peggy hummed in acknowledgment. She used to take painting lessons, but she had never been the artistic kind and always ended up making a mess instead of an art piece. She’d always appreciated art, though, in any form. She almost wanted to ask to see some of Steve’s work, but she wasn’t sure she had the energy to fake enthusiasm if he was one of those ‘you have to work to see the beauty’ types of artists.

“Do you sell your pieces?”

“It’s more like something I do when I have the time, which isn’t very often,” he explained. “The farm keeps me busy.”

“You own a farm?” Peggy thought he was rather young to have such a large property, and he looked to be much too fair for such work, but he did have the build for it.

“My best friends’ family does. I try to help out.”

Steve didn’t elaborate but Peggy could sense there was more to that story. But she didn’t know Steve, and it was impolite to press. Now that she had taken a closer look at his hands, she could see they were calloused and marked, hands that belonged to a laborer, not an artist.

“They’re lucky to have you,” she told him sincerely, but Steve just shrugged his massive shoulders and curled a bit into himself. Though he could easily swallow her whole, Peggy felt like a giant next to him.

“I don’t do a lot, just what I can. It ain’t much. “

“I think you’re more deserving of gratitude than you believe,” she said gently, accentuating her statement by handing him the makeshift sack of fruit for him to hold. He took it with a small smile and nodded, holding it preciously within his hands.

“That’s a-a nice dress, Peggy,” he said quietly, handing out a grape to her.

She smiled.

“Thank you, Steve.”

They talked for a while longer until only raspberries and a few strawberries were left. He asked about her family, and she didn’t technically lie when she said she was the heir to their properties and businesses. She told him about Angie and he told her about Bucky, and they both agreed that those two should stay as far away from each other as possible.

Peggy had just asked Steve to draw her the harbor filled with ships—more like goaded him into saying he’d do it after repeated comments that he wouldn’t be able to—when they heard a distinctly male voice call out from the path that led to the roses.

“Steve! Steve, if you’re here, let’s go I snagged a date with the milk-lord’s daughter and I don’t wanna make her wa- “

The man stepped out from the bushes and stopped a few yards away from Steve and Peggy on the bench. His dark hair spiked up in a few messy places— the milk-lord’s daughter’s handiwork, no doubt—and the proud smirk he wore faded as he stared at the pair before him.

This must be Bucky, Peggy mused, exactly as Steve described him.

Bucky was silent and still for a moment, clearly caught by surprise before bowing his head. “Your royal highness,” he called, and Peggy could feel the immediate change in the air as Steve shifted in his seat.

She turned back to the man beside her and watched as his brows knit together and his eyes searched her face. When he found what he was looking for and his jaw went slack, Peggy knew her time was up.

With a sigh she rose from the bench, acutely aware of Steve jerking around in his seat, trying to rise without dropping the fruit in his care yet failing all the same. She turned her head to gaze down at him and fought the laugh that bubbled in her chest at his wide eyes and fish-looking open mouth.

“It’s been lovely,” she told him with a small smile before looking away from him and striding out, nodding at Bucky as she passed who looked as if he wanted to say something to her but thought better of it.

* * *

“What the hell was that?”

Steve, still reeling from Peggy’s—Princess Margaret’s? —exit, jumped when Bucky shoved his shoulder slightly and began whispering aggressively, causing Steve to drop all the fruit he had picked up while Peggy was leaving.

“I-I don’t know I was just sitting here and she came over and we just started talking and — “

“You just started talking to Princess Margaret?” Bucky began to pace and stepped all over the fruit Steve was pitifully trying to recover.

“I didn’t know she was the princess— “

“How,” Bucky exclaimed, halting in front of Steve, arms outstretched in an act of incredulousness, “when you’ve seen her face everywhere? And what about her voice? People like us don’t speak like that.”

Bucky’s tone was harsh, but Steve understood that it was out of shock, not anger. Bucky has spent hours trying to track down Princess Margaret, and Steve had found her by sheer luck.

“Come on Buck, you know she doesn’t look the same on paper as she does in person,” Steve said, finally giving up on the fruit and rising out of the dirt. “And I wasn’t expecting to talk to her at all today so it’s not like I would assume it was her. Anyways, I was busy,” he finished, motioning towards the bushes behind Bucky.

Truth was, Peggy had caught him by surprise and in a moment of pain: white roses had been his mother’s favorite, and he was just starting on the lines of her nose in his sketch pad when he felt Peggy’s eyes on him. If he had actually been paying attention, maybe he would’ve recognized Peggy’s soft curls and sharp jaw as those belonging to the face on most of his stamps, but all Steve could focus on when he looked up was that his mother had blonde hair, not brown. Anything that came immediately after that—the voice, the face, the clothes—didn’t register, and by the time they were really talking, she was already simply Peggy in his mind.

Steve could see the moment it clicked for Bucky when he saw the roses, and his face softened. He visibly deflated, his shock and surprise vanishing just like that to be replaced with a softness reserved especially for Steve. He clapped Steve on the shoulder but refrained from mentioning his best friend’s mother, preferring to keep with the topic at hand.

“Damn...so you think she heard that comment about the date?” Bucky asked, wincing.

“I’m afraid so,” Steve said, feigning disappointment for his friend. Steve didn’t know her at all really, but he guessed that the princess wouldn’t easily forget such a remark and that Bucky had blown his shot with her already.

Bucky sucked his teeth, leading Steve down the path and back to the main garden.

The princess, Peggy…Steve still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that they were the same person. Well, he could—Peggy was beautiful enough to be a princess, but she was so kind, so easy to talk to. The princess had a reputation of being cold, but Steve felt nothing of the kind sitting next to her. And he had tried to flirt with her! He wanted to kick himself at the mere thought of what he’d said to her. He wouldn’t be surprised if palace guards showed up at his door the next day to lock him away.

The first woman he’d tried to talk to in who knows how long, and she turned out to be his future sovereign…fantastic.

But as Steve fingered the cloth in his palm, unfurling it to reveal Peggy’s initials neatly stitched in the bottom corner, he found that all he really cared about was that he hadn’t gotten the chance to draw her the harbor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope you liked this chapter--finally, we get Steve and Peggy meeting! I hope you've enjoyed this so far, I'd love to hear your thoughts! Thank you for the reviews and kudos so far, I really appreciate them
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
